Page 17 of Run Omega Run
He was tall, broader through the shoulders than Dante, with dark hair and eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. His clothes were simple but well-made, the kind of quality that came from having enough money to buy things that lasted. Butit was the way he moved that made my breath catch—controlled, deliberate, like someone accustomed to being in charge of whatever situation he found himself in.
His gaze swept across the waiting room and stopped when it reached me. I watched his nostrils flare slightly, watched something shift in his expression as he caught my scent in return. Strawberries and cream, still clinging to my clothes despite the hospital's chemical atmosphere, apparently strong enough to cut through everything else.
For a moment we simply looked at each other across the space between his position near the admissions desk and my plastic chair beside the wall. There was recognition in his eyes, not of having met me before, but of something deeper. Something that made the hair on my arms stand up and my pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with medical emergencies or financial panic.
Then he was moving away, disappearing down a hallway with the same controlled grace that had marked his entrance, leaving only the lingering scent of peppermint and the sudden awareness that people I hadn’t noticed were watching me.
A flash of movement at the nurses' station caught my peripheral vision—another man, this one bigger, broader, with wild eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. His scent didn't reach me from that distance, but something about his posture suggested he'd been observing the same moment of recognition that had just passed between me and the peppermint-scented stranger.
In the hallway to my left, Cole reappeared from whatever medical consultation he'd been pursuing, but he paused when he saw me, his head tilting slightly as if he were processing something unexpected. His dark clothes and serious expression fit the hospital environment perfectly, but there was somethingin the way he looked at me that made my body tingle and my heart pound.
They were all keeping their distance. Watching but not approaching, aware of something that I was only beginning to understand myself. Only Dante remained close, settling back into the chair beside me with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged exactly where he was.
"Everything all right?" he asked quietly, and I caught that warm marshmallow scent again, comforting in its consistency.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to stay steady if I tried to explain what I couldn't quite understand myself. But as I returned my attention to the forms in my lap, I was acutely aware of being surrounded by people who saw me as something more than just another signature on another piece of paperwork.
For the first time in months, I didn't feel entirely alone.
Chapter 8
Cole
Istepped into the hospital corridor, my eyes assaulted by the antiseptic brightness. Footsteps muffled amidst the parade of people coming and going. An orderly wheeled a young lady into one of the emergency rooms, the wheels squealing. I sighed. I hated it up here. The familiar blend of bleach and disinfectant should have been comforting. It was the smell of my professional world after all, both sterile and predictable. But today it couldn't mask the lingering trace of toffee that clung to my clothes and skin, mixing with the hospital's chemical perfume in ways that reminded me exactly why I'd needed to escape that waiting room.
Heather. Her name echoed in my head like a prayer I didn't deserve to voice.
My hands clenched at my sides as I walked, the medical bag growing heavier with each step. I'd handled death for fifteen years, had perfected the art of professional detachment, had learned to see bodies as puzzles to be solved rather than lives that had ended. But one look at her—alive, fierce, that strawberry-and-cream scent wrapping around me like silk—and every carefully constructed wall I'd built crumbled to dust.
Christ, what she did to me.
I could still see her bent over the reception desk filling out forms, the curve of her spine, the way her jeans hugged her hips. My cock had hardened at the sight, blood rushing south so fast it left me dizzy. Even now, walking through sterile corridors past nurses and orderlies, I couldn't shake the image. Couldn't stop imagining what it would feel like to have her beneath me, those sweet sounds she'd make as I took her.
I wanted her bent over my table, hands braced against the cold steel while I gripped her hips. Wanted to hear her gasp my name as I pushed into her, stretching her, claiming her. The thought of her taking my cock like the good girl I knew she could be, sent heat coursing through my veins, made my steps falter as arousal punched through me with shocking intensity.
This wasn't like me. I was controlled, methodical, analytical. I approached everything, including attraction, with clinical precision. But Heather had shattered that composure the moment her scent hit my system, triggering responses I hadn't felt since... had I ever felt anything this intense?
The science of it fascinated the part of my brain that remained functional. Scent-matching was rare, occurring in less than three percent of Alpha-Omega pairings according to the latest studies. The phenomenon required precise pheromone compatibility, specific chemical markers that signaled genetic diversity, immune system strength, reproductive compatibility. When true matches occurred, the biological response was immediate and overwhelming. Dopamine flooded the system. Cortisol levels spiked. The body essentially rewired itself to crave that scent signature above all others.
I'd read the research papers, had seen the brain scans showing how matched pairings activated reward centers more intensely than any drug. The evolutionary advantage was clear: ensuring strong offspring through optimal genetic combinations. But reading about it in medical journals wasentirely different from experiencing the reality of my body betraying fifteen years of careful control.
Her strawberry scent had been perfect. Not just pleasant, but perfect. The sweet tang of fresh berries balanced by rich cream, creating something that made my mouth water and my hands shake. When it mixed with my toffee in the emergency room, the combination had been intoxicating. I'd barely managed to maintain professional composure while every instinct screamed at me to pin her against the wall and claim her mouth, her body, everything she was willing to give.
The rational part of my mind tried to assert control as I turned down another corridor, past the pharmacy where fluorescent lights hummed overhead. This was simple biology, evolutionary programming designed to ensure species survival. My response to Heather did not differ from any other biological function, like an elevated heart rate during exercise, pupil dilation in low light, digestive processes after eating. Just another automatic response to external stimuli.
